Elm Cottage
by bograt
Summary: On Ted Lupin's seventeenth birthday, he receives the will of his deceased parents.


**Heya everyone. If you haven't read Deathly Hallows, do not read on. **

**For those of you that have, this is my character exploration of Remus and Tonks son, Teddy, on his seventeenth birthday. Enjoy.**

Ted Lupin knew he had been given an awful lot from his parents. His future, he knew, was a gift given by them through their deaths. Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin had died so their son could live in a better world.

His Grandmother had told him vivid, colourful stories of his mother. She would smile sadly at him, hug her arms to her chest and reminisce, describing everything she could, every perfect detail until Ted felt her knew his mother just as well as she had, and would dig out the photos he had of them and watch as they laughed and waved out at him.

When it came to learning about his father, Ted would turn to his godfather. Harry was always just as enthusiastic to report about Him, as Ted was to learn, and would sit for hours at the dinner table, eating slowly with Harry's children about him, and listen silently, absorbing every little thing he could.

He also knew that he had been given a large amount of his parent's possessions through their will. That was why, at the brink of turning seventeen, Ted sat within the confines of his dormitory, staring at a long piece of parchment, listing all the earthly possessions both Nymphadora and Remus had owned.

And there, at the bottom of the parchment, his parents signatures. He traced the lines with one blunt fingernail (biting his nails was a habit inherited from his mother, he had learned, although not one that Andromeda favoured). The Will had arrived earlier that morning, examined and approved by the ministry. Ted had not left the dormitory since, not shown up for his lessons, nor eaten anything from the night before. He merely stared at the Will, running his fingers along the roughness of the parchment, thinking.

Sometimes, just sometimes, he preferred his steak rare at dinner, and whenever he requested this at home, or at his Godfather's, he was given a look of precise knowing. Often he ignored it, not wanting to concentrate on the idea. He knew full well the affliction his father had lived with from a young age, and was eternally grateful he did not share it.

He had the looks of his father, naturally. When he was feeling a little more _un_natural, however, Teddy would change his hair, or his eyes, or sometimes even his skin into a different vibrant colour. He was told, however, he did not share his mothers personality, but had adopted his fathers more gentle, caring touch whereas Nymphadora, he knew, had been clumsy, lovable and a ray of sunshine.

The lunch bell rang from somewhere in the castle, and he lifted himself to his feet. Pocketing the Will, Ted made his way through the castle quickly, so as not run into anyone. The office had become public to the students, and Professor McGonagall had always had spare time for him, so, after climbing the staircase, he knocked on the Headmistresses door.

He shifted the door open, and stepped through, and McGonagall offered a tight, welcome smile. "Ted," she announced, and pulled a chair out from her desk with her wand.

"Professor," he nodded, and sat down.

"I believe congratulations is in order," she said lightly, and pulled out a tartan box of biscuits. "Happy Birthday Teddy."

His cheeks flushed at the mention his full name. He disliked Teddy, and found it incredibly ironic that his own mother, who had too hated her own full name, had called him Teddy, when mere Ted would have sufficed.

"Thank you, professor," he replied.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Ted unsure of how to begin. Then, finally, "professor, I would like to take the day off school."

She started, and stared at him over her glasses. "I hear you have already taken the beginning half anyway."

"Yes, but," he sighed, and pulled out the Will. "Professor, I've been given my parents house." He pushed the Will across the table, and picked it up and read down the long list. He had, indeed, been given his mother's home. "I want to visit it," he said eagerly, "only, I don't know if I can wait until Saturday-"

Minerva too sighed, and set the paper down on the desk between them. "I am shocked, Mr. Lupin," she said amused, "that you did not just take the day off anyway."

"I didn't think it would be polite to just get up and leave," he admitted abashed. "Although, if you refuse, I am not sure whether politeness will factor into my decision."

McGonagall sighed once more, and examined the list once again. "Will you be living there once you have left Hogwarts?"

"I don't know," Ted admitted. "It depends on the condition of the house I suppose, and if, well, if I _can_."

She nodded, seeming to understand. It was not the matter of being given a house, it was the matter of living with all those memories that couldn't be his, of a house he could have grown up in but had been denied the chance.

"Very well," she said softly. "Mr. Lupin you may take the rest of the day off, I shall contact your teachers and let them know you will not be attending lessons."

He stood up, and took the Will from her hands. "Thank you professor," he said genuinely.

As he was about to leave the door, she held up a hand and called, "Ted! Wait, please!"

He turned, and lit the fire by her desk, and threw in a handful of floo powder. "Use this," she said, and he ducked into the fireplace.

His mother's cottage was smaller than he had imagined it as he arrived straight into the living room, landing on all fours on a rug. He would have wanted to think the place had not been disturbed since his parents had left, but it was obvious the Ministry had examined every object in the house for dark or improper magic.

He had hoped that when he emerged into the house he would feel like he was home, but he only felt like he had stepped into a stranger's life, and an odd sense of intrusion filled him.

At first glance, nothing seemed to match his parent's characters. He had hoped there would be photos, pictures, books left on the coffee table or letters on the side, betraying his parents intimate thoughts, but there was nothing, but a few pots on the counter in the kitchen betraying the untidiness he had learnt so much about when hearing of his mother.

There was a shelf of books to the side of the living room, but after scanning the titles, Ted saw nothing of interest. Losing hope, he glanced properly into the kitchen, and ascended the stairs.

The upper half of the tiny house was far cosier. The walls of the landing had been painted a bright, happy yellow, and there were three doors, each painted a different colour. His mother, he assumed, had made her mark on this house by painting the walls.

The first bedroom, with a light blue door, was tiny. As he pushed open the door, his heart stopped, and he saw, although the curtains were closed, a crib, his crib, and a chair beside it. Across the chair, hung loosely on its back, a mans tweed jacket.

Ted picked it up with shaking hands, and lifted to his face. It smelt dusty, but there was a hint of something there, something he hoped more than anything else was a trace of his father.

Taking off his own cloak, he lifted the jacked onto his own back, slipped his own arms through his father's sleeves and pulled it taught across his shoulders.

It fit, beautifully, and everyone had always said how much he looked like his father, how he was the same size. He drifted into the bathroom, and admired himself in the mirror and decided above all else this was his favourite item of clothing.

The bathroom was decorated with multicoloured tiles and there were bottles of shampoo and bars of soap around the bath and sink. Opening the cupboard under the sink, he saw the usual littered items, spare toilet paper, boxes of tampons, a few potions, but nothing of interesting value.

He abandoned the bathroom, deciding that anything of sentiment would be kept in their bedroom. He was right. He pushed open the door, and saw, to his amazement, a crisp room. The bed sheets had been thrown back, giving the appearance of someone just emerging out of bed, and on the nightstand there were countless photo frames. Pictures of their his parents wedding, his father smiling and trying to look away from the camera, his mother, at his age it seemed, wearing a shiny new aurors uniform and dancing and jumping and punching the air. Pictures of her pregnant, pictures of them dancing together at a wedding, pictures of his mother, much younger than he was, perhaps at fourteen, giving a red haired boy a one armed hug.

He picked them all up, and, cursing his memory, realised he had no bag to bring them home in.

Then, all at a rush, he realised he wouldn't have to, than in a few months after he had finished his NEWTS he would be living here if he pleased. All the excitement caught up with him at once, and his stretched himself out on the bed in a star shape, and smiled.

What could have been an hour later of looking up at the ceiling and appreciating the sensation of being home, he rose from the mattress and settled on a chest of drawers in front of him. The drawers were not simply full of clothes, although he pulled out endless amounts of items he wished to take home with him, to wear with pride and say they belonged to his father.

The rest of the drawers, mostly his mother's things, were far more sentimental. He pulled out wads of letters, tied together with string and, after hesitating for a moment, ripped a few open. Some were from his father, brief, love notes from the early days of their relationship, and another with him apologising profusely. There were several from his grandmother and grandfather. The rest, however, were all signed "Charlie."

Why she should keep letters from a previous love she did not know, until he stumbled across a letter containing the names of his brothers, and it all made sense. He had never known that Charlie Weasley and his mother had been friends at Hogwarts, but he made the note to talk to him about it next time Charlie emerged from Romania.

There was a tin box in one of the drawers, containing hundreds and hundreds of photographs, all of his mother and her childhood, from her baby photos to her life at Hogwarts, and even a few of the Order. There were quite a few of his father, too, but Charlie Weasley featured again and again, and Ted felt a stab of dislike towards him – what right had Charlie to dominate his mothers heart for such a time? Longer, he noted, than his mother had even known his father.

Searching further, he found his mother's jewellery, magazine cuttings featuring the Weird Sisters, postcards from Charlie, Christmas cards, a concert stub and muggle cinema tickets, a dried rose, and a letter with a ministry wax seal. Slipping the letter from its envelope, Ted unfolded it and noticed with a start, it was an acceptance letter into the Auror offices at the Ministry.

Ted had been told, time and time again, how Nymphadora Tonks had been a brilliant auror, passionate about making the world a better place. She had been intelligent, as well as kind and loyal, completely devoted to her job. And it was her job; he added bitterly, that had caused her to die.

He sifted through his mothers clothes next, pulling out the all to familiar feel of a Weasley jumper – he had received one every year, with a big T on it. This one was the same, bright pink with a yellow T on it, as he unwrapped every Christmas, and he found it odd that Molly would send him the same jumper as his mother.

Wrapping his arms around the tin box, still wearing his father's tweed jacket, he balanced the photos on the box and hung the jumper over his arm, and carried them down the slightly curved staircase. Placing them on the kitchen table, he took another look around the living room.

At seventeen he was an adult now, and his parents had died to give him his individuality, and he decided quite warmly that he would like to live here after his Hogwarts days were over. Knowing this would not be the last time Ted came here, he ducked into the fireplace and hurried back to Hogwarts and Victoire.

**Reviews are happily received and flames will be laughed at.**


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